


The Worst Things Come Free

by twinkachu



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkachu/pseuds/twinkachu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Dave Karofsky's suicide Kurt has moved back to Lima only to realize that maybe it's not just guilt haunting him.<br/>Not recommended for those triggered by talk of suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most people do not put much thought into their own death. We as human beings instinctively fear it and try to hold onto the belief that we'll be immortal. Not many people want to consider the hows, the whys, the whens. It's not what decent people think about. With such limited time on Earth why would we worry about something so inevitable? People who have not considered death are lucky people, ones that you'd probably be best to avoid for fear of realizing the glaring differences between your lives. 

Dave Karofsky has considered suicide since he was thirteen years old, right after his first wet dream featuring a lithe boy who was once in his boy scout troop. Confusion kicked in first, then anger, and finally a strange numbed state. Better to be numb. Numbness kept him away from the bottles of pills in his mother's bathroom, from the shotgun in his father's study. The numbness kept him able to go to school every day. Never happy but still alive. Dave figured that happiness was an overrated concept that the guidance counselor tried to sell to make her own useless life meaningful. It had no place in his own heart or mind or soul. 

Now, it wasn't like Dave was sad exactly. There was no sitting in a corner weeping for the boy (well, not particularly often). It was an emptiness in the chest, a horrible weight right at the base of his neck. It was the taste of blood at the back of his tongue and the way he always felt mysteriously weak. Dave has never been considered a lightweight, but he finds himself cold. He finds himself shaky. Above all else however Dave wants someone to be there. He craves the feeling of warmth around his shoulders and a heartbeat that is not his own to lull him to sleep. He craves the love and affection his family does not offer. 

In truth Dave is unsure of his response, even if someone did offer that affection. It has been years since he had received or given a comforting hug. Even a gentle hand on his forehead. Dave fears the touch, because he's afraid that he'd never be able to get enough once he accepted the first. A glutton for love, desperate to make up for all of the times he had been in want. Dave doesn't believe he deserves any of it. Somehow, somewhere, something has gone horridly wrong inside of him. He is a fluke. An accident. Like a sixth finger on his hand, except it is something that cannot be removed with a simple scalpel. This is something that has tainted his very soul, and can never be removed. 

And like every accident, it must be amended. That's what Dave decides to write in his suicide note, the one he feverishly worked on in secret for weeks while he began collecting pill bottles. Adjusting his tie for the last time (he knows it's stupid to get dressed up, he's well aware he'll end up making a mess of it by the time he's found, but it feels important) Dave sits on the edge of his freshly made bed. A few pills, then a drink. Over and over until he feels sick. Until he decides to lay down. Until his eyes close.

By the time his father comes home Dave's cold.


	2. Chapter 2

After Paul Karofsky discovered his son's suicide nothing was the same for Lima. Sometimes people committed suicide, that was an unfortunate truth. But for a successful man's son to end his own life was unheard of. In truth few cared for Dave and few could truly mourn his passing. Perhaps they couldn't quite forget the rage he had displayed in his short and unpleasant years on earth. But nobody could look at Paul without pity. For the first week or so. Then the gossip turned vicious.

  
Some people said it was his fault. There had to be warning signs for such things, and clearly Paul had to have noticed. Perhaps some people truly believed it, but it seemed like most of the town was clutching their teenage sons and daughters a bit more closely than usual. It was as if suicide was something contagious like the common cold. Nobody wanted their child to be next.

  
Paul spent hours rummaging through his son's room trying to find something to explain the horrible thing he did but nothing was found. He had known something was different with his son, Paul wasn't stupid. He had been well aware of his sudden reputation as a bully. He knew something happened with the Hummel boy. Hummel. The name clicked and for the first time since Dave died he actually wanted to go outside. It was a long shot to be sure, but maybe the Hummel boy could say something that Paul had missed. Maybe somebody out there had an answer.

* * *

 

Burt Hummel shook his head and snatched a wrench from his stepson's hand. "No, not like that. Do you want to lose your fingers?" He edged Finn out of the way and quickly finished the job himself. "It's easy if you've got the right angle - but you've got to watch for your fingers. Car safety 101. Even Kurt knows that much." From the main office Kurt's voice was faint. "I heard that, dad." After assuring himself that Finn truly wouldn't rip off a body part (Carole was forgiving, but Burt figured a maimed son would probably be her boiling point), Burt headed back to cautiously keep an eye on his son.

  
He would never admit it, but the Karofsky boy's suicide had shook him. There was no love lost for that family after the events of last year, but Burt was not unsympathetic. He could very easily imagine Kurt doing the same thing. His son was strong, stronger than most would ever truly believe, but he was still just a boy. The thought of Kurt ever feeling drawn to taking his own life made his chest ache. Not his son, Burt vowed. Not while he was still standing.

  
Kurt seemed lost in his homework just like he had been for the past few days. Burt stood in the doorway watching him for a long time. In truth he knew that his son had always been different from him in a million little ways, but he had always thought they were close. Now with Kurt as a young adult Burt wasn't so sure. Maybe no parent really understood their child. Kurt looked up and Burt was struck by how tired he looked. "Do you need my help out there?" he asked quietly. "No. Finn's fine. I just wanted to see how you are." Kurt let out a soft laugh. "I'm fine, dad. I promise." His voice softened. "Don't worry about me, please. I'm okay."

  
Sometimes Burt was not so sure.

* * *

  
Hummel Tire & Lube was experiencing a lull in business that was quite uncommon in the late afternoon. Kurt hoped that they'd end up going home a bit early. While he and Finn were well aware that Burt didn't need him, Dave's death reminded Kurt of his father's heartattack and how things could have gone. Kurt would take no chances, and apparently Finn would not either.

  
Kurt had just begun packing up his things when the black escalade pulled up into the parking lot. That was a surprise, but nothing could prepare him for what Finn said as he half jogged to fetch him from the back office. "Dude, Karofsky's here and he wants to talk to you." For a moment Kurt stood there in confusion. David was dead, he couldn't be here to see him. He would never be able to talk to Kurt ever again. "Wait, Mr. Karofsky?" Kurt asked in confusion. "Well yeah, who else after his kid-" Finn paused after seeing Kurt's face. "He wants to talk to you."

  
Nothing good could come from talking to Mr. Karofsky, and it seemed that Burt knew it. Kurt saw his father standing in front of him with his arms crossed. "Go home, Paul. You can't bring my kid into this." It seemed like Paul was well aware. "I just need answers. You'd want them to if it was your son." Kurt swallowed hard and tapped on his father's shoulder. "It's fine, dad. Can you and Finn start closing up for the night? I'll talk to Mister Karofsky outside." He didn't wait for a response, he simply walked into the main parking lot and hoped that Paul Karofsky had not yet lost his mind.

* * *

 

"Why?" It was the first thing out of Paul's mouth once they were alone . The simplicity of it silenced Kurt for a long moment. "I don't know. I wish I did." He wasn't surprised to realize that he was being honest. Yeah, he wished he had known before it was too late. No matter how much of an asshole David had been to him over the years Kurt could never say he wished that he died. "What did I miss?" Paul asked softly. "He was always such a good boy until last year. What happened?" Was outing a dead person wrong morally? Kurt wasn't completely sure. "I think David felt very confused and maybe it made him angry. I'm sorry, I wish I could help you or that I had answers for you, but I really don't."   
It was then that Paul broke down, both terrifying Kurt and breaking his heart a bit in the process. "All he had to do was tell me. He was my _son_. I loved him and nothing could have changed that."

* * *

  
To say that Dave woke up would not quite be correct, but the logistics of an afterlife are so very intangible that mere mortals would be unable to comprehend it. Dave became aware three days after his death. First it had been the cold, the horrible cold that wasn't in his bones but in his very soul. The second thing was a curious lightness. Dave was not tangible.

  
Death wasn't what he had thought it would be. While not personally religious, he had been raised in a Christian household and had feared something like Hell. He had also wondered if it would just be the end, like closing a book midsentence. What he really got was a strange chill and his own bedroom. The only glaring difference in his eyes was that his bed was not stripped clean of bedding and the door stayed wide open.

  
Dave spent the first few days trying to attract his father's attention in vain. He could speak all he liked, but he didn't think that he could be understood. He tried manipulating electronics, knocking over trinkets, everything he could remember from the horror movies he had watched with his friends growing up. But it came to nothing.   
After watching his father weeping on the floor of his old bedroom for the dozenth time Dave wondered if perhaps this was Hell after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Time passes, even in a small town like Lima. People move away, people fall in and out of love, sometimes they have babies and other times they die. Dave Karofsky slowly became just a dim memory. Most would say that it was better that way. Safer. Better forgotten then leaving them to ask the inevitable questions: _What made him do it? Could we have done anything?_

  
Paul Karofsky died a few years after Dave. A heart attack. Dave could only stand and watch in impotent frustration as his father first grew still then cold. If Paul's soul left his body to move on Dave was unable to see it. Maybe he was damaged in more ways than one. It'd answer quite a few questions.

  
After his father's funeral Dave's uncle sorted through his possessions and put the house up for sale. Dave did not see anyone for a very long time after that. He spent his days and nights alone, trapped in the very house he died in.

* * *

Kurt went to New York a freshly single man with nothing on his mind but success. He excelled in fashion design, even setting up his first collection at the ripe age of 21. It was that night that he met Jackson, the handsome son of another designer. For the first time since high school Kurt decided to date. A decision that Kurt would ultimately regret.

  
It had started with a slap a few months into their relationship. Kurt couldn't remember what it had been about, but he had remember the sound Jackson's hand made against his cheek. He remembered the stunned silence that followed as his cheek began to burn. He remembered Jackson begging for forgiveness and wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist. He remembered forgiving Jackson. Not just that time, but hundreds of others for dozens of offenses ranging from an ugly insult to a broken wrist.

  
Three years later Kurt moved out considerably poorer but with the last remnants of his dignity intact. He chose to go home, to go back to Lima. Not forever, he assured himself on the plane. Just for a while. He could work up some new sketches and just relax. Lima could be where he healed. For a while at least, then he could go wherever he dreamed of going.

  
Kurt chose to rent a house just fifteen minutes away from his childhood home. The rent was surprisingly cheap, even for Ohio but the biggest selling point to Kurt was the photos the rental company sent him. It looked big, homey. Right in a way he couldn't quite explain. He could picture himself in it almost immediately.

* * *

Kurt had feverishly worked to unpack his essentials for most of his first night, ignoring the steady ache in his wrist that told him it would soon rain. Exhaustion overtook him and he fell upon his mattress. _There would be time in the morning for skin care_ , he told himself as he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  
At first Kurt was not sure why he had woken up. The room was dark, his bladder was not full, there seemed to be no real reason. Except... except a tingling at the back of his neck. He couldn't quite place it, but it was almost like being watched. Kurt stayed still with his eyes closed. Some childish memory told him that nothing could hurt him if he didn't see it. A silly thought, but it made him feel as if he could potentially be protected somehow. As if he could be saved.

  
It was then that he heard a soft sound. Just the house settling, he told himself. But since when did a house settling sound like slithering? Since when did it sound like door knobs and at times even footsteps? Kurt's heart raced. While never a big fan of horror movies himself, he'd seen enough thanks to Finn and his friends. Enough to make his mind quickly imagine scenario after scenario from those tacky plots. _Please don't be the meowing kid from The Grudge,_ he pleaded silently.  _Or a demon, but mostly just not that kid from The Grudge._

Suddenly Kurt felt as if he had been bathed in ice. His skin burst into painful goosebumps as he grimly fought the urge to whimper. Just a draft, right? A nasty draft. First thing in the morning he would unpack his down comforter and- _silence_. The only sound Kurt could hear was the pounding of his heart. He still couldn't open his eyes. If he kept them shut it could just be considered a bad dream. If they opened he'd be admitting something was horribly wrong. Over the past few years Kurt had gotten very good at pretending everything was fine.

  
The cold disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Something in his chest relaxed. While he would not fall asleep for the rest of the night, he also knew that somehow whatever had been beside him had gone.

* * *

Dave had all the time in the world to explore the changes between his mortal form and his ghostly form. He couldn't feel things physically anymore, nobody seemed to be able to hear him, nobody could even seem to sense him. But the real change was how things felt to him emotionally. The rage from his life had increased tenfold. Normal under the circumstances, he supposed, but that wasn't enough. He felt silenced by the universe itself. As far as Dave could tell, nobody really saw him. Sometimes he'd catch little kids hesitating on the sidewalk outside of his home for a few seconds longer than usual, but they always hurried away. If he hadn't felt invisible before, he certainly did now.

  
Seeing real estate agents infuriated Dave on a lot of levels. It was his home, after all. He didn't want to share his home with some strangers who would change everything, but he also hoped against hope that it could maybe mean somebody would notice him. He practiced opening and closing the door of his old bedroom until he could shut it with a satisfying slam. Yet none of the agents did so much as flinched.

  
Giving up on door slamming he tried to touch them, finding nothing but disappointment. Dave felt nothing as he watched his fingers disappear into shoulders and arms. He wondered if they felt anything. A few of the women would button their jackets, but that wasn't exactly impressive work. It was exasperating. Dave was felt a strange sense of relief when the for sale sign was removed and movers began intruding on his personal space. For better or worse it was over now. He'd have to live with whoever came - so to speak.

As he neared the sleeping form on the bed Dave felt something cold in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to believe such a thing could be true. And yet Dave had spent hours staring at the back of that neck in high school. He would know Kurt anywhere.

Dave came a bit closer to the bed, oblivious of Kurt's slight tremors. While it had all begun years ago Dave could remember it vividly. He remembered bullying Kurt and the outrage Kurt had seemed to feel after it. Dave could remember roughly kissing Kurt in the locker room only to be pushed away. He remembered his fear as he waited for Kurt to tell everyone, to ruin him. And yet it never happened. "I don't believe in outing," Kurt had told him once. A strange concept, but it seemed like Kurt stayed true to his word: Kurt never went in search of revenge for his mistreatment. 

The word revenge pulled Dave out of his memories. He was strong from years of tireless practice - he could scare Kurt away simply by picking up the bed and dropping it to the ground. He could throw things and scrawl menacing messaging in cold cream on the walls. Dave could traumatize Kurt so deeply that he would be left in solitude again. He stood beside the bed for a few moments as he considered it. And then he turned away. Kurt was hardly a threat, Dave reasoned. He'd give Kurt a chance. 

At least until daylight.


End file.
